So, after six weeks of : renting a car to go to work; sending tons of e-mails and phone calls to BOTH insurance companies; dealing with my agent(s), AllState agent(s), appraisers; two garages; local cops; state RMV; investigators; everybody's secretary and Office Manager; my parents; my familia; I finally get the call: your car is ready to be picked up.
I return the rental car and find out that though AllState will pay for the rental it will NOT pay for the additional insurance I was forced to take out on said rental. After my life being sucked dry by this charade for over a month and a half, I find that I am out one thousand and fifty-four dollars, which I can only (possibly) get back IF I take the guy that hit my parked car to court--and then he sues his insurers and I get to face the AllState lawyers in small claims. (Is this worth a summer of dealing with paperwork and "the Court System"...I am so tired...)
I chalk this entire scenario to "karma". Breathe. Happy I have enough money saved to cover this final "cost" and don't have to borrow anything from anyone. Happy to have some breathing room to enjoy summer and swimming and kayaking and writing...
Two days later: I come outside to a car that has spent its first night "home" leaking gas all over the driveway from a broken gas line.
(Karma?????????????????????????????????????????????????) Nope. Just a broken line under an old car...
I take it into the station. The guy in the garage is looking stressed and exhausted, too. He recognizes me from a year ago when they fixed my brake lines...he also recognizes the "old Subaru". He tells me he can't get to it until tomorrow and I am not going to be driving it home, today...he offers me a ride to Maple Street.
He knows my brother, the cop. I feel safe. I ask him why he's the only one in the garage? He sighs and I hear the entire story of a newly sobered up employee who has been missing for two days, now, and how everyone expects the guy fell off the wagon and has "disappeared", yet again. I hear about wanting to support the dude but needing to hire someone reliable and not being able to "hold the job opened", but also worried about his friend and feeling helpless.
We talk about sobriety. We discuss the high incidence of addiction in Gardner. We both agree: thank God it isn't heroin...I talk about that first year of getting clean and sober and how almost everyone "falls off the wagon" the first time...
The guy talks about his two young daughters--loves of his life--his worries about them growing up and "being girls"; talks about his wife; his job; drives me right up to my door. (Lots of strange men in the last six weeks giving me rides home...so weird this energy...) He promises to try and get the car done by tomorrow. Says it won't be over "a thousand"...Great. I shudder. He laughs. (I hope it is the kidding kind of laughter and not the "I've got a hooked fish" kind...)
Walk up to the front door as he leaves the scene and I suddenly realize: my housekey is still on the keychain with the car key. Sigh.
I ring the doorbell.
I can hear the t.v. blasting loudly enough, in the livingroom, that it is totally audible on the front porch, with all the doors closed! (At least the parental units are home...)
I ring the doorbell.
I hear the phone ring, inside, also audible from the porch.
I hear Mom yelling into the phone--some salesperson calling--Mom's less-than-patient-response.
I ring the doorbell.
I tap on the window, knowing they can't see me from inside.
I knock on the door.
I ring the doorbell.
Somewhere, from the bowels of the house, I hear Dad yelling to Mom about the doorbell.
I ring it, again.
This time, I hear his walker clicketyclickclicketyclick as he shuffles to the front door.
My greeting: "Where's your key? We couldn't tell if it was the front door or the back door bell or the phone or the t.v.! Where's your key?"
I explain, moving quickly inside, headed for the aspirin bottle and the quiet of my bedroom, midday.
Mom: "So, why didn't you take the car back to the Body Shop?"
Me: "It has nothing to do with their work at the shop or the accident. It's just an old car and it's rusted on the bottom...even the mechanic said so. He will work on it, tomorrow."
Mom: "So, the insurance companies aren't going to award you "emotional damages" or anything?"
Me: "No. Just repairs on the car caused by the collision...and the immediate rental."
Mom: "That doesn't seem right..."
I sigh. Breathe. Head up the stairs.
No, it doesn't seem right at all.
Outside, it begins to rain, yet again.
(I realize: this would be a blessing in California.) This isn't California.
Tortuga must last one more year. ( Whatever transportation spirits that reside around here, please take note.) My finances will allow a newer, more dependable vehicle in another year. Right now, all I can do is keep the little green Subaru running, safely, and pray my "car karma" has finally evened out.
(You could have burst into flames, today. You could have been stranded somewhere much farther out, no gas left. You could have been awarded five hundred dollars for the total write off of the car.)
I flop on the bed, next to the open window.
I fall asleep, still listening to the rain.
I return the rental car and find out that though AllState will pay for the rental it will NOT pay for the additional insurance I was forced to take out on said rental. After my life being sucked dry by this charade for over a month and a half, I find that I am out one thousand and fifty-four dollars, which I can only (possibly) get back IF I take the guy that hit my parked car to court--and then he sues his insurers and I get to face the AllState lawyers in small claims. (Is this worth a summer of dealing with paperwork and "the Court System"...I am so tired...)
I chalk this entire scenario to "karma". Breathe. Happy I have enough money saved to cover this final "cost" and don't have to borrow anything from anyone. Happy to have some breathing room to enjoy summer and swimming and kayaking and writing...
Two days later: I come outside to a car that has spent its first night "home" leaking gas all over the driveway from a broken gas line.
(Karma?????????????????????????????????????????????????) Nope. Just a broken line under an old car...
I take it into the station. The guy in the garage is looking stressed and exhausted, too. He recognizes me from a year ago when they fixed my brake lines...he also recognizes the "old Subaru". He tells me he can't get to it until tomorrow and I am not going to be driving it home, today...he offers me a ride to Maple Street.
He knows my brother, the cop. I feel safe. I ask him why he's the only one in the garage? He sighs and I hear the entire story of a newly sobered up employee who has been missing for two days, now, and how everyone expects the guy fell off the wagon and has "disappeared", yet again. I hear about wanting to support the dude but needing to hire someone reliable and not being able to "hold the job opened", but also worried about his friend and feeling helpless.
We talk about sobriety. We discuss the high incidence of addiction in Gardner. We both agree: thank God it isn't heroin...I talk about that first year of getting clean and sober and how almost everyone "falls off the wagon" the first time...
The guy talks about his two young daughters--loves of his life--his worries about them growing up and "being girls"; talks about his wife; his job; drives me right up to my door. (Lots of strange men in the last six weeks giving me rides home...so weird this energy...) He promises to try and get the car done by tomorrow. Says it won't be over "a thousand"...Great. I shudder. He laughs. (I hope it is the kidding kind of laughter and not the "I've got a hooked fish" kind...)
Walk up to the front door as he leaves the scene and I suddenly realize: my housekey is still on the keychain with the car key. Sigh.
I ring the doorbell.
I can hear the t.v. blasting loudly enough, in the livingroom, that it is totally audible on the front porch, with all the doors closed! (At least the parental units are home...)
I ring the doorbell.
I hear the phone ring, inside, also audible from the porch.
I hear Mom yelling into the phone--some salesperson calling--Mom's less-than-patient-response.
I ring the doorbell.
I tap on the window, knowing they can't see me from inside.
I knock on the door.
I ring the doorbell.
Somewhere, from the bowels of the house, I hear Dad yelling to Mom about the doorbell.
I ring it, again.
This time, I hear his walker clicketyclickclicketyclick as he shuffles to the front door.
My greeting: "Where's your key? We couldn't tell if it was the front door or the back door bell or the phone or the t.v.! Where's your key?"
I explain, moving quickly inside, headed for the aspirin bottle and the quiet of my bedroom, midday.
Mom: "So, why didn't you take the car back to the Body Shop?"
Me: "It has nothing to do with their work at the shop or the accident. It's just an old car and it's rusted on the bottom...even the mechanic said so. He will work on it, tomorrow."
Mom: "So, the insurance companies aren't going to award you "emotional damages" or anything?"
Me: "No. Just repairs on the car caused by the collision...and the immediate rental."
Mom: "That doesn't seem right..."
I sigh. Breathe. Head up the stairs.
No, it doesn't seem right at all.
Outside, it begins to rain, yet again.
(I realize: this would be a blessing in California.) This isn't California.
Tortuga must last one more year. ( Whatever transportation spirits that reside around here, please take note.) My finances will allow a newer, more dependable vehicle in another year. Right now, all I can do is keep the little green Subaru running, safely, and pray my "car karma" has finally evened out.
(You could have burst into flames, today. You could have been stranded somewhere much farther out, no gas left. You could have been awarded five hundred dollars for the total write off of the car.)
I flop on the bed, next to the open window.
I fall asleep, still listening to the rain.
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